


To Be Loved In Return

by hooknleather



Category: Moulin Rouge! (2001), Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-12
Updated: 2018-05-12
Packaged: 2019-05-05 16:52:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14623029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hooknleather/pseuds/hooknleather
Summary: The Moulin Rouge. A nightclub, a dance hall and a bordello, ruled over by Robert Gold.A kingdom of nighttime pleasures where the rich played with the young and beautiful creatures of the underworld.MOULIN ROUGE AU





	To Be Loved In Return

PROLOGUE

  
‘ _The Moulin Rouge. A nightclub, a dance hall and a bordello, ruled over by Robert Gold._  
_A kingdom of nighttime pleasures where the rich played with the young and beautiful creatures of the underworld. The most beautiful of all these was the woman who I loved._

_Emma._

_A courtesan, she sold her love to men. They called her "The Sparkling Diamond." And she was the star of the Moulin Rouge. The woman I loved is… dead.’_

  
It was 1899, the Summer of Love. And Paris was a daunting place for any man.

But it was particularly daunting for Killian, an unpaid writer from England who had been warned by his father that the hill near Paris by the village of Montmartre that he had moved to was a “village of sin”. It was a risky idea, moving so far from the familiarity of London, but the Bohemian revolution had swept up the world, and had taken Killian with it.

The writers, painters, artists and musicians - The Children of the Revolution - all came to Montmartre, the place where the Bohemian spirit thrived. And Killian joined them, choosing a penniless existence to write about truth, beauty, freedom, and that which he believed in above all things; love.

The only problem was, that despite the Bohemian obsession with love, Killian struggled to embrace that particular point of focus. Purely because, he’d never been in love.

He had just sat down to start his very first page on his typewriter, when an unconscious Argentinean fell through his roof. Followed soon after by a dwarf dressed as a nun. Ah, the Bohemian life.

“How do you do? My name is Leroy-Marie-Raymond de Toulouse-Lautrec-Monfa.” The dwarf said, his accent heavy as his hand extended to shake Killian’s, apparently completely unfazed by the fact that he had just burst into a stranger’s house and introduced himself while his friend was passed out whilst hanging from the ceiling.

“What?”

The dwarf however was apologising profusely whilst simultaneously working on getting the unconscious Argentinean (who apparently suffered from a strange illness known as narcolepsy) down from his position upside down. “I’m sorry about this. We were just upstairs in my apartment, rehearsing a play.”

Over the next few moments, Killian learned all he need to know about this ‘play’ that Leroy was muttering about. It was something very modern and very Bohemian called _Spectacular Spectacular_ , set in Switzerland.

Together, Killian and Leroy succeeded in helping the Argentinean down from the ceiling, which lead to three new faces appearing in the brand new shiny hole in Killian’s roof.

“How is he?” One of them asked, a blonde man wearing a wonderfully coloured scarf around his neck.

“Oh perfect, now the Narcoleptic Argentinean is unconscious _again_ , and therefore the scene will not be finished in time to present tomorrow.” Another said, a man with messy brown hair who Killian immediately started to dislike.

“Right, Leroy.” The man with the scarf began. “I still have to finish the music, we must continue. And now, we’ve lost our leading man.”

“We’ll just find someone to read the part.” Leroy shrugged, apparently not bothered at all that his key actor was fast asleep on Killian’s bed.

“Now, where on Earth are we going to find someone to read the role of the young, sensitive, Swiss poet goat herder?” The messy haired man said, sounding the complete opposite of Leroy, irritation in his voice.

Killian had just been watching the unique scene play out, his eyes wide at his very first introduction to true Bohemian culture. But at the mention of finding someone to read the part, all eyes turned to the penniless writer in the corner of the room.

And before he knew it, Killian was upstairs in Leroy’s apartment reading in for the unconscious Argentinean. And that wasn’t all. He had been forced into some Swiss goat-herder clothes while standing on a makeshift hill with an incomplete script in his hand whilst watching everyone bustle around the room in confusion.

The man with the scarf -who Killian had since learned was named David- was playing some unbelievably annoying music on an incredibly loud instrument that appeared to have been made by David himself. Walsh (the messy-haired man) was directing the play while Leroy was dancing around and singing, still in his nun costume.

“ _The hills are ablaze, with the euphonious symphonies of descant!_ ” Leroy sang loudly, the words not fitting to the tune at all.

“Oh stop, stop! Stop, stop, STOP!” Walsh yelled out, turning around to glare at David, whose hands had frozen against the keys of his invention. “That insufferable droning is drowning out my perfected words! Could we please just stick to a little decorative pi-ah-no?”

It seemed that there were artistic differences over Walsh’s lyrics to David’s style. And soon enough, arguments about the choice of lyrics were breaking out all over the place, everyone making their own suggestions. Even the Argentinean awoke just to yell out, “the hills are incarnate with symphonic melodics!” before passing out yet again.

The babble was insane, but the writer inside of Killian was beginning to stir. He stuttered a few times, being spoken over by the other men. So all he could do to be heard was to belt out the words that he believed fit not only the tune, but also the Bohemian ideologies that the play was supposed to represent.

“ _The hills are alive, with the sound of music!_ ”

Tension arose in the room as everyone grew silent, turning to stare at Killian. But the ice was shattered when the Argentinean sat bolt upright, yelling out in glee. “The hills are alive with the sound of music? I love it!”

Killian let out a relieved sigh, so glad that his words were appreciated in a way that they never were back home in England. And he couldn’t help but keep going.

“ _With songs they have sung, for a thousand years._ ”

The men loved it, all of them exclaiming in amazement at Killian’s natural and instant flair for plucking beautiful lyrics out of nowhere.

“Incredible! Incandiferous! Inspired! Walsh, you two should write the show together.” Leroy cried out, clapping his hands together with excitement.

“I beg your pardon?” Walsh looked at Leroy with disgust on his face, one that sent Killian’s eyebrow rising in surprise. Or well, not really surprise. From the offset, Walsh seemed like a high-maintenance, self-important kind of man, one who believed that it was “his way or the highway”.

And so Leroy’s suggestion that Killian and Walsh write the show together was not what Walsh wanted to hear, causing him to create a scene and storm out of the room with a dramatic exit complete with enraged yelling.

None of the other men seemed too bothered by the fact that their writer had abandoned them. As they all believed instantly that Killian would take over the helm and join them. They were right though, Killian was penniless and needed whatever work he could get. And so he joined the Children of the Revolution.

“Here’s to your first job in Paris!” Leroy cried as he took a swig of Absinthe, a drink that can turn the smartest and most sensible man into a giggling schoolboy. The drink did reveal the reasoning behind why Leroy was so loud all of the time…

“Leroy… Gold will never agree.” David said, looking up to see how confused Killian was looking. “No offense, monsieur… But have you ever written anything like this before?”

Killian, who was completely lost as to what was going on, shook his head in response. He thought he was helping to write a play, but some person called Gold had to agree on it? “No.”

And then the Argentinean reached up to Killian, gripping his leg tightly since the writer was still elevated on a ladder. “I like him! I like his mind, his talent!”

And before he knew what was happening, the troupe had gathered in a huddle, resulting in Killian having to strain to catch tiny snippets of their conversation. If it involved him, why shouldn’t he be able to hear what they had to say?

“The hills are alive with the sound of music!” Leroy whispered excitedly. “See, David, with Killian we can write the truly bohemian and revolutionary show that we’ve always dreamt of!”

“But how will we convince Gold?” David shot back his way. But it seemed that Leroy had a plan.

“Emma…”

“Emma?” Killian hadn’t meant to say it, but the name drew him in. The troupe all looked back at him in the midst of their planning as apparently, the softest word falling from Killian’s mouth had interrupted them. All Killian could do in response was give them a nervous smile, trying to pretend that he definitely wasn’t extremely curious about what it was they were saying.

But before long, Leroy’s plan was explained to him. They would dress Killian in the Argentinean’s best suit and pass him off as a famous English writer. Once Emma had heard his modern poetry, she would be astounded and insist to Gold that Killian were to write _Spectacular Spectacular_.

But Killian was struggling with the idea, his father’s voice ringing in his ears. “ _You’ll end up wasting your life and the Moulin Rouge with a can-can dancer!_ ”

He just couldn’t agree to it, he had to stop them. “I… I really shouldn’t, mates. The Moulin Rouge? The Sparkling Diamond? That’s far too out there, I’ve only just arrived here in Paris…”

But Leroy had none of it, taking Killian’s hand between both of his own. “Killian, this is a once in a lifetime opportunity, for all of us. And you have the raw talent. Everything will go to plan, you will meet with Emma and we shall have our play. Once she hears your poetry, Gold will have no choice but to put on our show!”

He would never admit it to Leroy, but the dwarf was very convincing. So Killian agreed, reluctantly, but still agreed to join the troupe and attend the Moulin Rouge. He moved to Paris to invest in the true world of Bohemian spirit, so why not go all in and join the Children of the Revolution? What else did he have to lose?

As soon as he spoke the words that solidified his place in the group as the new writer, Leroy and his troupe cheered together, hugging Killian tightly. And it was then that Absinthe was passed around, giving the writer his first true taste of Bohemia.

The Children of the Revolution was cemented, concrete and ready to start a new Bohemian outbreak. And across from the apartment building, lay the place where Killian’s entire world would change. The place that he would not only find true happiness, but also true love.

The place where Emma lay. And the place she died.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you all liked this prologue! I am thinking of doing more chapters of this fic, we shall see if my muse likes it and if I manage to find the time to write it.


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